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Thursday, February 13, 2014

There are a few undeniable signs that life is about to get menstrual. The first is the desire for a mass consumption of chocolate. Since I am currently on day 5 of a wheat, dairy, and sugar fast I've been able to satisfy that craving and move on. Haha. That was a joke because I'm thisclose to driving to the nearest store and snarfing every piece of candy I recognize - and even those I don't.

Another clear sign of the impending monthly is that I get a huge case of the Feels and cry over everything. I'd like to take a minute to thank Great Big World and Christina Aguilera for the timing of their hit song "Say Something". Having it dominate airwaves the same week I'm PMSing is genius. I'm pretty sure that song is being sponsored in part by Kleenex brand tissues. Well done, Kleenex.

-John Green

I'm also thanking for great timing this week = my library. Finally getting me to the front of the line for John Green's The Fault In Our Starsthis specific week was stellar. For those unfamiliar with this work of art I suggest you read it immediately. It is a YA novel about a girl named Hazel Grace who has cancer. She is tethered to an oxygen machine at a cancer support group when she meets Augustus Waters. Their relationship will wreck you. Decimate. Couple this novel with Great Big World's "Say Something" and you know Kleenex (and BIG BROTHER*) played a part in in it all.

(*This is no joke = on Tuesday I was twenty pages from finishing The Fault In Our Stars - which means I was sobbing like a baby because if you've read the book you know what just happened - when my telephone rang. Since I was a hot mess I checked Caller ID before I answered it because I reserve my hiccuping snot-filled voice for my most special friends. GUESS WHO WAS CALLING AT THAT EXACT SECOND?!?!

This, kids, is a land line telephone. It is what came after telephones that still had cords. If you look closely at my Caller ID (#baller) you will see the person calling me during the end scenes of The Fault In Our Stars was none other than CHILDREN'S CANCER.

Monday, February 10, 2014

For example, at 9:30 Sunday night, when a couple is half way through the much anticipated return of Walking Dead, and they hear an unanticipated knock at the door, the man will stride confidently to answer the door, while the woman will beg him to take a weapon because who comes over unannounced on a Sunday night?

The man will check out the window, open the front door, and through the storm door say, "HEY. HOW CAN I HELP YOU, MAN?" The woman will stand looking out the front window silently lamenting that her man does not even have a baseball bat with him, because surely anyone knocking on the front door late at night is out to cause great bodily harm. I mean, she has seen movies about home invasion.

The man knocking on the door will say, "Sorry, bro, I was just driving by and there is a lot of smoke in your driveway. Like, it's on fire. There are flames next to your garage." The woman listening will begin to freak the heck out, because of course there really is no fire, this is how young man lures your man outside where a gang of bandits rape and pillage the entirety of your household. Because, the Bible*.

*this may be a minor taking out of context the account of Sodom and the angry mob outside of Lot's door.

The man of the house will hear the words "smoke", "fire", and "flames" and respond calmly, "Thanks, man." He will gently close and lock the front door, put on his coat, and walk through the kitchen to the garage door. The woman will hear those same words and, mixed with her skepticism about the reality of said fire, be all, "WHY AREN'T YOU PANICKING AND PLEASE TAKE A WEAPON."

The man will open the garage door, say, "Stay here," and serenely stroll into the dreaded abyss. The women will dash through the house to see if she can see anything through the front window. When that proves insufficient she will dash back to the garage door and open it a teensy bit in order to check the status of her beloved's life, and her beloved will be shoveling snow onto the actual fire in front of the garage and yell at her, "CLOSE THE DOOR," because when plastic melts there are toxins.

The woman will forget the fire and be all, "Dude, he yelled at me," and return to watching The Walking Dead.

The man will come inside and say, "I guess the embers were still hot."

The woman will say, "WHAT?"

The man will explain, "When I cleaned out the fireplace I emptied the coals into the plastic bag inside the plastic garbage can."

The woman will respond (incredulously), "You didn't think maybe it would melt anything?"

"Yeah, that's why I put it outside our garage. Because I learned from the last time I started a fire in the garage*. Don't worry, it's out now."

The woman will think practically. "Is our garbage can okay?"

The man will laugh and respond, "No, it's totally gone. Once the snow I put on top of it melts you'll be able to see the handle. That's all that's left."

There you have it. The main difference between men and women? A women won't let a little thing like a fire interrupt the mid-season premiere of The Walking Dead.

*When we were engaged I was out of town and Brian celebrated his last bachelor Fourth of July by setting off large amounts of fireworks at his parents house. He disposed of these fireworks in the garbage can inside of their garage. His mother awoke to a garage filled with flames. Thankfully the house was spared. Brian, however, will never live it down as long as I have a blog.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

If you are a teacher, you will understand when I say I've had to work all week on lapbooking, which is why I didn't post sooner. If you are not a teacher, lapbooking has nothing to do with being a stripper or the mafia. Totally don't worry if that's what you obviously thought at first. It is because of lapbooking that I needed yoga Monday. (Scrapper's Back, anyone?) It is also because of lapbooking that I missed yoga Monday. Thus the cycle of destruction continues.

I left off on my yoga tutorial (Part 1 found here) with the warm up from hell. Let's return to the current scene: fiiiiine young gentleman is leading you through the next vinyasa* (*series of movements coordinated with your breathing)(this one the "real" workout).

Fiiiiine young gentleman will lead you through some moves that you vaguely recognize from previous classes, except the intensity of his poses produce in you the inner monologue of "Dude, is he on crack?" They will be slower and broken into smaller steps so be thankful, because this slow speed is exactly what you need in order to stay with the class. You will keep your eyes trained on the neighbor to your right until fiiiiine young gentleman has you turn to face the hallway; then, with your right side neighbor out of sight you notice the person behind you (now to your left, stay with me) is a YOGA SUPERSTAR and follow her every chance you get. You will finish the flow facing forward once again.

This is the time to hurry up and pat yourself on the back. You are NAILING yoga class. Congratulate yourself quickly before FYG does the whole vinyasa again but for the other side of your body. You will now need to mirror those moves you barely survived the first time around. This round will not be as smooth as the first attempt. In fact, when FYG asks you to move from triangle to a standing split without crashing to the ground you will snort a bit and get your back leg approximately eighteen inches from the ground. YOGA SUPERSTAR looks exactly like she is doing the splits in midair. (Don't worry, she probably has bad breath.)(Or punches kittens.)(Or secretly loves spam.) Ease out of standing splits into tree pose (HAHA), finish your vinyasa, and face front.

As you mentally prepare for what is next, take a moment to practice your non-panic face and review the best moves in your arsenal of free-style interpretive dance. You will need them at your disposal. Fiiiiine young gentleman will say, "Now move through that vinyasa at your own pace, using your own breathing to guide you," and everyone else will know exactly what they are doing and you will be all, "THE HECK ARE WE DOING? NO ONE IS LEADING ME." Cover nicely with some flows that say, "Do I look like I know what I'm doing? No? Well I am communicating quite adequately then because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING." Randomly crouch into yoga-esque poses and notice, while you are glancing feverishly around the dark room to see if there is anyone you can copy, that some overachievers are actually standing on their heads. By choice.

Sublurban Mama: making Santa Clause
weird for you since 2014.
(source)

Thankfully FYG will make the rounds and correct people on their form. He will be saying super helpful things like, "Shaking just means your muscles are getting stronger and more able," and, "We don't judge our bodies here, we only observe and notice them." (He also loves redundancy and restating things using different words.) You hope perhaps he will observe and notice you are completely lost and throw you a bone and move through this with you. You see as he nears you he pauses to correct a women in tree pose. He grinds stands behind her, pulls her shoulders back and uses his leg to wrap around her leg and turn her knee out. You will immediately feel like you are in the opening sequence of a porno. Once she is "adjusted" he will tell everyone to finish at their own pace. "Finish" the vinyasa you were in the middle of choreographing, face the front, and try to breathe. My compliments to you; you have survived the ab-libbed portion of yoga.

You are dripping sweat. You are sweating in places you did not know contained sweat glands. Your earlobes are sweating. Your fingernails are sweating. Your teeth are sweating (editor's note: we call that drool, Kelly). This is the perfect opportunity to do some work on the floor.

Since I forgot to take my camera, you'll just have to
take my word that this is pretty much what I look
like in my sports bra and yoga pants. Give or take
thirty pounds. And, you know, the mid-section of
someone with four c-sections under her belt.*
(*did you see what I did there?) (source)

Take plank position. Your forearms are covered in sweat, so slide around a bit as you seek purchase on some kind of grip on the mat beneath you. Move to side plank. Raise your top leg and stretch your arm above your head. Now you are in serious trouble. All this sweat makes you think this must be what mud wrestling feels like. It is with that train of thought that fiiiiine young gentleman will choose to come over and "help" you out. He will be in the middle of murmuring, "Really streeeeetch it out," when he attempts to grab your hand and gently puuuuuuullll, but after the initial grip he will try to pull and your sweat will allow his hand to glide completely off your palm. He will stumble a bit, and you will giggle. He is centered so he will not giggle but merely reaffirm, "Shaking just means your muscles are getting stronger and more able. Feel it." (You will probably only feel like thinking of the movie Goonies, and dwell on the realization that Data was way ahead of his time with his invention of slick shoes; you have successfully repelled fiiiiine young gentleman with the slick power of your perspiration, effectively employing the same principle that saved the Goonies from the Fratelli family.)

The last part of yoga will include frog pose. Frog pose is horrible enough on it's own, but it wouldn't be a proper yoga tutorial if I didn't prep you for what might will undoubtedly occur.

Since your sweat is still an issue, as you settle into frog pose prepare for the following sequence of events:

1. Enter frog pose. Think it must be a joke. Look around and see everyone blissfully chilling out, not at all freaking out about their knees, inner thighs, or shoulders.

2. Listen to FYG say, "We are going to spend about three minutes here. Just the duration of this song." Listen to Adele sing one of the acoustic heart-breakers from her first album.

3. Wonder WHY THE HECK can't Adele sing any faster?

4. Squirm. Get caught by FYG. Listen to him say, "Try not to fidget. Embrace the discomfort." Know it's directed at you. Wiggle your toes vehemently in protest. He's not the boss of you.

5. Realize your sweat is turning into an agent of torture against you. Your whole upper body will tense in trying to keep you stationary. It will all be in vain. As the last of your upper body strength leaves your body, embrace the discomfort as your arms slide out from under your body as you crash onto the floor. Don't worry, your chin will break your fall.

6. Knock over a candle on your way down. You will be slightly stunned from the floor burn on your chin but you will have the presence of mind to acknowledge the need to right the candle before you burn down the yoga studio. Make a sound like you are about to throw up as you lunge toward the candle. As you take hold of the candle, saving everyone from a horrific death, notice it is electric.

7. Kill FYG and Adele.* (*Sike.)(Leave Adele alone.)

Yoga will try to end on a nice note. Namely, with corpse pose for five minutes. This is normally your favorite part of yoga. It is where you zone out and relax. Fiiiiine young gentleman will ruin this when he chooses to bring out a guitar and starts singing an original tune conveying that if you ever feel like giving up, come to him, he will embrace you and be there for you. You cannot relax because you are now in awe that your yoga class was taught by someone who probably wanted to be in One Direction.

And that will be enough to get you to go back.

Aaaaaand that is my tutorial. I hope you learned a lot. The moral of the story is: if you have never done yoga, you can't do much worse than me. (Unless your studio uses real candles.)(Then you could probably burn down the whole place.)(Which would be waaaaay worse.)(But that probably won't happen.)(Because liability.)

About Me

Sublurban Mama ingredients: One part Mama, one part wifey, one part HARDCORE athlete, one part constant inappropriate giggles. Bake on high for 34 years (not a drug joke) and wrap up in a big Pinterest ribbon. All while listening to Needtobreathe. And drinking iced coffee. Probably.

Hi. I am so glad you are reading my blog. You are awesome. I hope you return every day. And tell your friends about me. In fact, you are welcome to repost anything you see on this blog, providing you credit me and link back to my site. Please and thank you. Have a special day, Friend. I hope it's filled with Tim Horton's Iced Capp. And rainbows. And surprise marathons of Hoarders filled with episodes you haven't seen yet. And maybe even a kitten. But mostly Iced Capp.